


Repeat

by thesorceressfromthelake



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-30
Updated: 2013-10-30
Packaged: 2017-12-30 23:20:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1024582
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thesorceressfromthelake/pseuds/thesorceressfromthelake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three times Stannis was almost happy, and one time he actually was but would never admit it, or Stannis dreams, never learns his lesson, and ends up happy anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repeat

Cressen tells him before the wedding to be gentle with his new bride. Stannis knows little of tenderness, but he does not understand why Cressen thinks he shall be so harsh. Selyse sits beside him, as unmoving as he is, but he thinks it is more from nervousness than anything.

He did not want to marry her, does not want to be married to her, he never wanted to marry at all. But that is no reason to be cruel. “My lady…” he falters when she looks at him and he clears his throat. “We should…it is customary that we dance.”

Stannis remembers learning how to dance. His mother taught him in the halls of Storms End as his father watched and smiled. Robert and he took turns dancing with their mother; Robert enthusiastically, but lacking skill or grace. Stannis remembers his mother almost had to force him to lead, while Robert laughed at their efforts and his father judged their steps. He wonders where Robert is now.

He does not like dancing with Selyse any more than dancing with his mother, but he can lead now and he does not feel like anyone is watching them now, despite this being their wedding. They think this is just another feast. All of them. They don’t even notice either of us.

At least he shares that with his new wife. He studies her, and he does not know her, not at all, but he thinks that she, too, might be overlooked. At the very least they have that in common, and that is not nothing. And…he likes dancing with her like this. He enjoys it, truly. 

“My lord,” she says, and then stops. The shouts around them have grown louder and more directed. Men are slamming their goblets down on their tables and suddenly everyone is looking at them. Stannis almost wants to yell at them all to quiet down but suddenly he realizes what is about to happen.

Stannis blocks out whatever everyone around them is saying, blocks out the noises and the hands that are grasping at him and wonders, suddenly, what it will be actually like to be married. He thought he would dread it, but now nothing seems as bad as it might have been. The wedding was awful and the bedding will be humiliating, but marriage itself might not be bad. He will have children, and that at least will be good.

He thinks on this to ignore the hands grasping at his shirt, his belt, pulling and tugging and stripping. He does not look at the people around them. He does not think he can stand to see familiar faces, or he will not look another person in the eye ever again.

They reach the door, he and Selyse in two separate groups. The men are half-carrying her and she seems far more stripped down than he is and his eyes travel down her body, then shoot back to her eyes. A man behind him opens the bedroom door.

(Stannis truly hates his brother. His parents would be ashamed of them both. Tonight he paces around the room while Selyse sits in the corner cursing something or someone. He falls asleep sitting against the wall and dreams he’s loosing air.)

*

Melisandre’s hair fans out against his pillow, in his tent. She keeps her hair up, and he thought it would be longer than it is, before. She leans up, and brings him down against the sheets. The ground is hard, but she is soft, and smells like smoke, even when there is no fire.

“Sleep, my king,” she murmurs against his ear and she wraps and arms around his back and pulls him tight, to her. “You must sleep.” He does not wish to sleep any more than she does. He can see Renly in his dreams even with her beside him.

She lays down beside him, and presses her forehead to his, smiling faintly. His breath comes out heavy and slow. She hums softly, murmuring in a language he does not understand and suddenly he wonders how many languages does she know, where has she traveled, what is she saying, where is she from, who is she, why is she here.

He leans forward and kisses her, roughly and she runs her hand from his cheek, down his neck to his shoulder. He tries to clear his mind as she leans down and kisses his neck, once, softly. His throat closes and mind grows blank as she presses her hand against his chest. And then, “My lady. Why are you here?”

Melisandre leans back away from him, studying him. She tilts her head to the side. “Why am I here?” Her expression is more difficult to read than usual, as if she is completely uncertain of the answer. “I am here to serve you, my king. Why else?”  
Serve him. For a moment he thinks of his words to Davos—serve him as needed, was that what Davos thought he meant as well? Was this a service to her? It has not been a service ever asked for, if it was. “Serve me why?” He asks instead. He seeps the emotion out of his voice, continues as neutral as he can. “Because I am king?” He waits for a contradiction, disgusted at himself for wishing for one.

“Because you are Azor Ahai reborn. And you will save the world.” She sings the words, almost (she does that; he notices), bringing a warm hand to cup his cheek but he bats her away.

She’s a fool that believes in a foolish god. Nothing more. There is no other reason to be here. “Leave me.”

“Your grace?”

“Leave me and go—go wherever it is you go. Do whatever it is you do. Leave this tent, Melisandre.”

She obeys. 

(This night he dreams blood streams from his temples, from his eyes, that dragons fly overhead and burn his flesh and he’s impaled on the Iron Throne, bleeding from every angle the throne Robert sat. The next night he asks her back, but hardly looks at her.)

*

He’s ten and he realizes he’s better with a bow than his brother is. Stannis thinks this is the first time he’s better at anything than his brother (later, he reevaluates, he’s smarter than Robert, he’ll think. He does what he has to do, unlike Robert, he’ll think, but that is later and this is now.) He shoots an arrow straight into the center of the target his father built for them. He lowers his bow and stares at it.

Robert watches, more seriously than usual and Stannis falters. Their father claps his hands together. “Well done, Stannis. I do not think I could have done so well with a bow when I your age.” His father pats a large hand on Stannis’s shoulder and it almost makes him doubt how well he’s done. Father praises him no matter whether he’s done well or not so it doesn’t really matter what he says, sometimes. But still, he has done well this time, and Stannis smiles. “Why don’t you try now, Robert?”

Robert steps foreword with a hard look in his eye. Takes up the bow and levels it. Stannis does not watch his brother. He watches the target that Robert is aiming at, and his arrow that is right in the center. Then Robert laughs a high laugh and sets the bow down. “Father,” Robert says, “only children play with bows and arrows. I want to fight with a sword.”

He shoots again at the target and the arrow veers off to the side. It plunges into the bright grass beside the target and Robert laughs a short, barking laugh. It’s almost like a snarl. Stannis does not throw his bow on the ground like Robert would. He sets it down and walks away. He will not throw a tantrum; he is not a child.

(Later Stannis learns how to fight with a sword and he might not be as good as his brother, but he is better than most. Later Stannis learns how to kill a man and hates that he ever loved weapons.) 

*

Shireen sits on the floor, reading a murky grey book that seems half her size from where he is sitting. She came to him earlier today, glancing back over her shoulder as though expecting to see someone else there. He thought it might be Patchface, then wondered where the fool went. She stuttered out her words so quickly that he could barely hear them. “Father may Ireadwithyou in your study.” He told her to speak more clearly next time, to enunciate her words, and then said of course she could. She smiled at him as though she was expecting him to say what he said.  


Shireen reads better than he ever did at her age. Cressen once said she is a sad child, but Stannis looks at her and he thinks she is happy enough in her stories. She seems pleased enough where she is and how she is, so much so that he’s not certain what Cressen means. Perhaps it is because she spends so much time alone. Alone and with that accursed fool. Selyse says that they should find his daughter better playmates—she will be a lady, rule a castle, she should not be influenced by fools—but Shireen was so upset by the suggestion the subject was dropped by all involved and never brought up again.  


We do not speak about all that we must speak about. “Father?” Shireen is a foot away, heavy book pressed against her chest, her arms reaching around just enough to hold it. “Father? I was wondering…if you would not mind…”  


He tries and keep his voice light. He beckons her over. “Yes. What is it?”  


She approaches, and leans against his knee. “Father, I was wondering if you would tell me a story.”  


He glances at the door, and then back at her. “It is very late, Shireen.”  


She stiffens, and smiles. “Yes, father. I am tired. I just wanted a story before I slept. That was all.”  


He places a hand on her shoulder. “I did not say no, child.”  


He caries the book for her. “Do you w. ant me to read from here?” She seems almost flushed. “No…I’ve read all of that. I was wondering…if…perhaps…you could tell me a story, father?”  


He doesn’t have any stories to tell. Shireen sits on her bed, and waits, seemingly expectantly, but it doesn’t feel expectant to Stannis. He won’t tell her anything real. Stannis knows few stories, but he has had a few dreams. “There was once a boy, with a sword made of light…” he starts.  


Shireen’s sleeping, snoring softly. He presses a hand to her forehead, and bends down and kisses her on the head. “Sleep well, Shireen.”  


Shireen sleeps well at night. She doesn’t toss and turn unless she has nightmares and lately those have been few and less severe. Stannis thinks children shouldn’t have nightmares, but he did as well as a child, so he supposes there is no surprise. But tonight Shireen sleeps and Selyse sleeps and Stannis sleeps and not one of them wake up until morning.

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically first person I disguised as third person. Stannis is a deeply unhealthy human being but I love him anyway.


End file.
